


Starry Night

by sakarrie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Concussions, Flashbacks, Gen, Gift Fic, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), One-Shot, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Somewhere in the Later Seasons, Star Gazing, Stranger Things (referenced), Supernatural Summergen Fic Exchange 2019, The boys worry more about each other than themselves, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:34:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24294448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakarrie/pseuds/sakarrie
Summary: “Dean should have known better. If there was anything that he should have learned by now, it was that there’s no such thing as an easy hunt. And now, lugging his bleeding baby brother back to the car, the lesson had been deeply re-ingrained.”Aka, an excuse to write both boys being more worried about the other despite their injuries. Based on the prompts: sam and dean watching netflix in sam’s room, sam and dean stargazing on the hood of the impala, and dean cradling hurt!sam.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 75
Collections: Supernatural Summergen 2019





	Starry Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iamremy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/gifts), [be_brave13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/be_brave13/gifts).



> This was made for chestercbennington as a part of 2019 Summergen. Having just signed up for the 2020 one, I realised that I never actually got around to posting this fic on here. So, technically, this was written a few months before The Past Comes Back to Haunt You, making it the first SPN fic I wrote! Compared to my first fics in other fandoms (cringe), I'm actually still pretty proud of this one.
> 
> Also, a HUGE thanks to the many betas who looked this over, including Amorythewriter and KailinMaurine over on FF.net, and be_brave13 here on AO3. I want to especially thank be_brave13 for looking over several versions and doing such a thorough job. Seriously an awesome beta and I was so lucky to find her! It's safe to assume that any sentence in here that seems super fluent or well-written was because of her tweaking. Anyways, I listed her username in the gift-to area so ya'll can go check her out and give her some love. (;
> 
> TWs: Blood and Concussions, though nothing that wouldn't be seen on the show.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Really Dean? Stranger Things? That’s what you want to watch?” Sam gave his concussed brother an amused look. He knew that Dean was really a complete geek at heart, but he’d never pass up the chance to tease him about it.

His brother feigned nonchalance, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “It’s pretty popular man. You never know, maybe it’s decent.”

Sam snorted as he came across it on their “continue watching” queue. He smirked at Dean. “You never know, huh?”

Dean’s hand came out of nowhere, giving Sam no time to dodge the swat to his head.

“Watch it! Just ‘cause you have a concussion doesn’t mean you need to give me one.” Sam whined in mock pain, but his dimples made it clear he was fine. While he loved having his own space in the bunker, sometimes it was nice to share a room with his brother again.

Looking back to the screen, Sam groaned. “Remind me why you’re the one who gets to pick the show when I’m the one who has to stay up all night?”

Dean shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. “You picked the room, so it’s only fair I pick the show.” He rolled his eyes as if it was the most obvious thing in the world before shifting around again. “Man, Sammy. I’m telling you. You really oughta get some memory foam. How do you sleep on this thing?”

“You’ve slept on motels beds way worse than this. Stop being such a wimp.” Sam replied, grabbing one of his best pillows and throwing it at Dean’s face.

Dean let out a slight “oof,” not expecting the sudden ambush. “Thanks.” He deadpanned.

Sam gave the show one last glance before tossing the remote to Dean and grabbing his laptop. “Here. Knock yourself out.”

This time, Dean was ready and caught the remote with a snort. “That seems a little counterproductive to the idea here.”

Sam barely acknowledged his brother’s joke, already starting to search for another case. Dean always hated to be on bed rest, so Sam figured as soon as his brother had passed the “not going into a coma” test, he’d be anxious to get a move on.

Twenty minutes later, Sam had already found a case and was beginning to feel bored. He had glanced up at the show often enough to get the general plotline, but was more focused on the hunt he had found.

It looked like a pretty basic werewolf hunt, and a sloppy one at that. He’d been able to find most of the information they’d need to get started just from the police reports. The killings were all on the border of a small wooded area which was home to an abandoned cottage. It was rumored to be haunted, the townsfolk claiming to hear screams emanating from the area every once in awhile. Upon further investigation, Sam found that “every once in awhile” lined up exactly with the lunar cycle.

Really, he was shocked that the police hadn’t solved this one.

Sam pulled up another database, detailing one of the more recent deaths. He’d already looked through it several times, but he was running out of research that he could do without being there in person.

“Saaaam.” An annoyed voice moaned from under the pillow besides him. “How am I supposed to sleep here with you tippity tapping all night?”

Sam smiled, knowing that that, too, was something Dean had slept through plenty of times before. Not to mention that the TV Dean insisted be left on was far louder than his typing. Nevertheless, he closed his laptop and pushed it aside. After all, Dean did have a concussion and sometimes noise sensitivity could be pretty specific about what would or wouldn’t drive a nail into his head.

“Dude, you’re supposed to be asleep.” Sam scolded, glancing at his clock to see it was twenty minutes before Dean’s hourly check.

“Yeah, and you’re supposed to watching the riveting show I picked out for you.” Dean said, pulling the pillow away from his face so Sam could understand him.

“How ‘bout this: I’ll watch your stupid show if you actually try to sleep.” Sam smiled, thinking back to when Dean made similar deals with a much smaller Sam who was refusing to sleep.

There was a small pause, Dean probably remembering the same memories as Sam. After a few more moments passed, Dean threw the pillow back over his head with a grumbled “Fine.”

Sam chuckled at his brother’s childish behavior before turning back to the TV. Might as well get it over with, he thought, clicking the play button.

_____

Dean smirked as Sam brought up Stranger Things for the fifth time since they started driving. Apparently sometime between Dean’s concussion wake up checks, Sam had become completely engrossed in the show.

“I mean, I wonder if that’s how people see us? Like, sure, we seem crazy, but do we seem completely of our rockers like Joyce? Well, I guess she isn’t off her rocker. That Christmas light thing was a pretty good idea.

“Hey, do you think that would work in real life? I mean, we’ve had a few times it would be nice to be able to communicate with another dimension...”

Dean let his brother babble, nodding and grunting at the right moments. It was nice to see him so enthusiastic about something, kinda reminded Dean of when Sam watched his first documentary. The next month he wouldn’t shut up about what “exotic” creatures toucans were.

They lapsed into another silence, but Dean was sure it would be broken as soon as Sam finished analysing another element of the show.

To his surprise, the next time Sam spoke up, it wasn’t about some fictional show. “Are you sure you’re feeling up to this Dean? You did take a pretty good hit to the head.”

Dean growled, much preferring Sam’s geeking to his mother-henning. “I already told you I’m fine, man. This ain’t my first concussion, dude. I know how to tell when it’s bad and this one’s not.” He couldn’t really fault Sam for checking, though. Dean would probably be saying something similar if it was still bothering him, but he really was feeling better this time. He’d hardly experienced any side-effects, so the concussion was probably pretty minor from the get-go.

Thankfully, Sam must have believed him because there was no way his brother would be letting Dean drive if he thought his concussion was impairing anything. Not to mention, Sam had gone and found a hunt without prompting, so this was probably just Sam triple-checking that he was good.

“Relax, Sam.” Dean placated. “I’m fine.”

Sam just snorted in reply, probably something to do with Dean’s definition of fine usually being not at all fine, but he must have accepted it because he turned back to his research. “I seriously can’t believe how dry cut this thing is. I mean, we haven’t had a case like this in years.”

“Guess that means we’re due for another one then.” Dean glanced over at Sam, who looked like a huge four year old that wasn’t accepting some simplified explanation from their parents. Dean rolled his eyes, quickly continuing before Sam could. “Just take the offering, Sasquatch.”

Sam turned back to research with a muttered “Fine”.

Dean grinned at his brother’s pout and turned up the radio. Rocking to AC/DC, he thought through the easy hunt they were about to have. He was sure they’d have some extra time to hit a bar, maybe pick up a girl... Dean grinned. Yeah, he was looking forward to this job.

___

Dean should have known better. If there was anything that he should have learned by now, it was that there’s no such thing as an easy hunt. And now, lugging his bleeding baby brother back to the car, the lesson had been deeply re-ingrained. “C’mon Sam. We’re almost there. Just a bit farther, little brother.”

Sam groaned next to him, the movement obviously pulling at the slashes on his side. He still managed to carry most of his weight for the time being, though.

In truth, Dean had no idea how much farther his baby was. The woods were pitch black and Dean was just grateful they hadn’t taken any turns when walking through the trees. As long as they kept going in this direction, they’d reach the car eventually.

A few steps later, however, Sam lost his footing and would have fallen without Dean’s arm around him. “Sammy? Hey, c’mon dude. Just a little longer, okay? We gotta keep moving.” Dean grunted from the extra weight, but continued lugging his brother forward. “Come on, Sam. I need you to help me here.”

Sam’s eyes were squeezed closed, but Dean felt some of the weight ease off him as Sam started stumbling again.

“There you go. As soon as we get to the Impala, I’ll have you all cleaned up, you hear? You’re going to be just fine.”

In truth, Dean had no idea what kind of wound they were dealing with here. Back at the cottage, Dean had barely had time to lift Sam’s shirt before another werewolf jumped at him. After he had dispatched that one, he was just worried about getting Sam out of danger. Dean had noticed while supporting him that Sam was still carrying most of his weight. His steps were more like a drunken stagger, but Sam’s cuts must be relatively superficial if he was still able to walk. That being said, just because Sam wasn’t leaking organs didn’t mean he wasn’t losing a lot of blood. As long as they could reach the Impala, though, Dean could get his brother patched up well enough to last them until they reached the bunker. Dean was still hoping they could avoid stitches though.

A glint in the moonlight caught his eye. “Look, Sammy! We made it, just like I said.” Dean gave his brother a cocky grin, but it quickly fell at Sam’s half-lidded gaze. He quickened their pace a bit. Only a few feet away... “You just gotta stay with me a few more steps, okay? Sam?”

But Sam’s eyes had slipped all the way closed and suddenly his legs were giving out beneath him.

“Oh no you don’t Sammy!” Dean cried, shoving himself in front of Sam to keep him from face-planting. Instead, though, they both crashed into the dirt, Dean banging his head on the ridge of the Impala.

Stars danced across Dean’s vision as it went in and out, his receding concussion rearing its head with a vengeance. The strobing lights in his head disoriented him, the world around him spinning like a compass with no true north. In fact, Dean wasn’t quite sure where he was at all right now. His senses all screamed at him, the wet cold beneath him and heavy warmth on top of him both far too intense. Eventually, the flashing lights in his vision faded to smaller specks that shimmered much more pleasantly.

Stars, the functioning parts of his brain supplied.

Dean smiled slightly. He liked stars. He’d always had good memories associated with them.

A Fourth of July that felt so out of reach now came to mind. With that memory came the sight of flashing lights, but these ones didn’t hurt like the ones in his head had. No, these ones were pretty. Their colors were vibrant but not head-splitting. But he hadn’t really been watching them. Instead, he’d been watching some floppy-haired kid whose face seemed to light up brighter than the fireworks. And then after the light show, it was the same stars he could see now that they had gazed at then, quizzing each other on their names.

Dean wiggled, but the warm mass on top of him stopped him from moving. He decided the stars were pretty enough to keep watching.

The next memory wasn’t quite as free-spirited as the first one. The kid was still there, but he was a lot bigger. He was tall and muscled now, but his floppy mop of hair confirmed that this was the same kid from the last memory.

The kid wasn’t smiling this time, though. No, this time he was angry, shouting at Dean about time and deals.

Dean narrowed his eyes, trying to remember more.

They were underneath the stars on the side of some backroad and Dean was holding two cold objects as he got out of the car. The kid was still yelling as he, too, got out of the familiar car.

Apparently the cold objects surprised the lanky kid, though, and he stopped yelling when Dean silently offered him one. The kid kept asking questions, but he didn’t seem as angry now.

Dean didn’t answer any of them, though. Just walked over to the hood of the car and opened the cold container to drink from. Eventually the kid followed too, but he wasn’t looking up at the stars like Dean. Instead, his head was buried in his hands, shoulders shaking every so often under Dean’s comforting hand.

But that didn’t make sense. Stars were pretty. They didn’t make people sad. Why was the boy so sad?

Dean stared hard at the stars above him, determined to find the answer in his memories.

This time, they were both sad. Each had the same cold liquid in their hands and they were on the hood of the same car. The kid was still there beside him, but he was older too, more broken. And Dean somehow instinctively knew he, himself, was as well. They’d lost someone, maybe multiple someones, and it was clear that they only had each other left.

Dean squinted in frustration. Stars made him happy. So why were all of these memories so sad?

Then he remembered another one. This time the cold thing in his hands didn’t burn as it went down his throat. This time they were leaned back and Dean’s arm was behind the kid’s head. This time they were talking.

And yes there were new scars, new aches, and both were covered in gauze and stitches, but the words they spoke were of relief, not sadness.

Dean smiled. He saw the pattern now. The pattern wasn’t the sadness. The pattern was the kid who was always next to him, always had his back, even in the hard times. No wonder he liked the stars. They reminded him of his brother.

Sam.

Dean’s brain chose that moment to flood him with the memories of the last few hours. The werewolves, his brother bleeding, his brother collapsing.

“Sammy!” He called, trying to shove the wet, heavy weight off of him so he could go find Sam. But then a horrible realisation occurred to him.

That was Sam.

Dean frantically wriggled out as far as he could, Sam more in his lap now than on top of him.

“Sam! Sammy, you need to wake up!” He cried, cradling Sam’s limp form to his chest. How long had he been unconscious? “Come on! Nap time’s over, you gotta wake up now. Sam!” He slapped lightly on his cheeks, relieved when a groan came from the weight in his lap. “That’s it, Sammy. Come back to me.”

Dean’s calls were answered by two familiar eyes gazing back at him. They were glazed and pained, but they were the best thing Dean had ever seen.

“There you go. Don’t worry, big brother’s gonna make you all better now, okay? How’re you feeling, buddy?”

Sam’s slurred “m’fin” didn’t really do much to alleviate Dean’s worry. However, if Sam had enough gears turning to keep up the usual Winchester bravado up, that probably meant he wasn’t too out of it.

Dean lifted Sam’s shirt to see the cuts, whispering a quick sorry as the saturated cloth peeled off his skin. The wound was barely visible in the starlight, but it looked like the blood had slowed to an ooze. That was good. That meant it probably wouldn’t need stitches. But his brother was still suffering from blood loss, so Dean needed to get water into him before he passed out again.

Dean gave Sam’s shoulder a firm pat and Sam’s pupils slowly drifted to look up at him. Giving him an apologetic smile, Dean said, “I need to get the water and med kit, so I’m gonna need you to get off me. Think you can do that?”

Normally, pushing Sam off would be heavy, but not impossible. With his head pounding and his coordination shot, though, Dean was worried he’d do more damage than good if he tried by himself.

Sam, for his part, merely nodded and started to shift. Letting out a pained groan, he was able to sit up and slide off Dean’s legs. With Dean’s arms supporting him, Sam slowly lowered himself back to the ground.

Sam’s eyes were still squeezed tight from the exertion and Dean figured that his best bet would be to get the water and bandages without Sam noticing his unsteadiness. Leaning against the Impala, Dean pushed to his feet and started walking back to the trunk. The flashing lights came back with a vengeance, however, requiring a pause between each step in order to keep himself upright.

What felt like a lifetime later, Dean made it back to Sam, water and medical supplies in his hands. He slumped next to him, taking a moment to catch his breath before the urgency of the situation came back to him.

Thankfully, when he looked down at Sam, his eyes were still open. In fact, they seemed less clouded than before and were focused unwaveringly on Dean.

“What’s... wrong with you?” Sam asked, his words strained, but his stare said he wouldn’t accept anything but the truth.

Dean just shook his head, a poor decision he regretted as the lights flared again. “Don’t worry about me, squirt. Here, I need you to drink some water.”

Dean unscrewed the lid and helped Sam sit up slightly. The water felt good on Sam’s throat, but he wasn’t the least bit satisfied with Dean’s answer. After having as much water as Sam could without risk of throwing it back up, Dean went to close the water bottle but was stopped by one of Sam’s hands.

“No, you... you need some too,” Sam said, eyes pleading and hard at the same time. The shaking of the water bottle in Dean’s hands hadn’t escaped his notice. “You hurt?” He asked, trying to look Dean over, but unable to from his angle.

Dean placed a hand on Sam’s chest, forcing him to stay down. “Relax, Sammy. I just bumped my head. Nothing to worry about.” Before Sam could argue, Dean picked up the flashlight, cloth, and antiseptic. “Sorry, man. This is going to sting, but you gotta stay awake, okay?”

Seeing Sam nod his head, Dean started to clean out his cuts, careful not to disturb the areas that were beginning to clot. He forced himself to focus on keeping his hands steady, doing his best to tune out Sam’s pained pants.

“You’re doing great Sammy. I’m almost done.” Dean said, setting down the cloth to take a final look at the now-clean area. To his relief, the blood had almost completely stopped and the cuts, while long, weren’t as deep as he had feared. Grabbing the bandages, he wrapped the wound, careful to jostle Sam as little as possible.

“Alright, Sam. You’re all patched up. You think you can help me get you to the car so we can head home?”

Sam didn’t respond and for a moment Dean worried that he had passed out after all, but when he looked down, he was met with his brother’s scrutinizing stare.

“No,” Sam said, not taking his eyes off Dean.

Dean pursed his lips, uncomfortable with the way Sam was looking at him. “That’s okay, Sammy. I can do all the work. You just do what you can, okay?”

Sam didn’t budge though. “No,” he said firmly, not even the slightest slur in his voice.

Dean let out an impatient huff, scrubbing a hand over his face. His head hurt and he had to get Sam home, but he really couldn’t do that without Sam cooperating. “Come on, man. I can’t get you in the car on my own and we need to get you to a bed-”

“You aren’t driving like that.”

Dean was taken aback by the words, not realising how lucid his brother had become. It must have been the water. “Sam-”

“No, Dean. Your hands are shaking and this is your second concussion in a couple of days.” Sam paused, closing his eyes and taking a breath before continuing, “How hard did you hit your head?” Although Sam's voice wasn't at his normal power, its fiery determination struck Dean in full force.

“Look, man. I’m fine, okay? It’s you I’m worried about. You can do your whole mother-henning routine once we’re back at the bunker, but I swear I’m-”

“Prove it.”

Dean was momentarily too surprised to speak, but quickly refocused. He could count Sam’s fingers if that’s what it took. Besides, if he got the number wrong, he could always blame it on the darkness. “Fine, I’ll prove it,” Dean said with a huff. The sooner this was over with, the sooner he could get Sam in a proper bed.

Sam held up his index finger, and Dean smirked. It was easy enough to tell when one finger was up, even if it his eyes were telling him there were two. “One, alright let’s get going,” Dean said, gathering up the medical kits.

Sam just shook his head and Dean realised he wasn’t holding up a finger to count, he was pointing. “Point out a constellation,” Sam said. “Get it right and we can go home.”

Dean tilted his head to look up at the millions of white lights in the sky, some seeming to move or disappear when he looked right at them. Dean groaned, pretending it was an inconvenience rather than an impossible task. “Come on, Sam. This is ridiculous. Let’s just go home.”

Sam smirked, seeing right through Dean’s act. “Sure, as soon as you can point out and correctly name a constellation.”

Dean briefly considered pretending he didn’t know their names, but Sam would see through that lie immediately. When they were kids, Sam would always ask when their dad would be coming home. Eventually, he stopped buying Dean’s excuses and Dean had to turn to distractions instead. Even then, Sam was stubborn and it was hard to get his mind off something he was focused on, but stars always seemed to do it. After Dean realised how interested in constellations Sam was, he quickly bought a book and learned all of their names and stories. From then on, whenever Sammy would begin to ask about John, Dean would start talking about a new constellation. It never failed to catch Sam’s attention and it quickly became a thing. Sometimes, on especially hard nights, Dean would even take Sam out somewhere special to see them. As they became older, they ran out of constellations to learn, so they would take turns talking about their favorite ones. While it had been a while since they had done that part, Sam knew that Dean had every single one of those constellations ingrained in his brain.

Though, looking up at the stars now, it looked like a whole new galaxy.

“Fine,” Dean snapped, deciding to take his chances. Pointing at a random formation, he declared, “Hydra.” Hydra was one of the biggest constellations, so he figured he’d have a decent chance of being correct.

Sam was frowning, though, his smugness replaced with worry. “That’s not even close, Dean. Can you even see straight?”

Dean growled, getting his arms in a position to help Sam up. “I’m fine, Sam, okay? Now help me get you up or I’ll drag you to the car myself.”

Sam shook his head fiercely. “Not until you get it right. Besides, I doubt you could even walk on your own right now. There’s no way you’re getting me to the car without my cooperation, and I’m not going to cooperate until I know you’re safe to drive. Landing us in some ditch isn’t going to help anyone, Dean.” Sam switched tactics, seeing Dean’s hard expression. His voice softened as he continued, “I’m not bleeding anymore, man. We just have to wait until your vision clears, okay?”

Dean huffed, but knew his brother was right. Fetching Sam’s jacket from where it had been tossed, he draped it over Sam’s body to keep him warm, showing that he had given up on getting them to the car. “Fine.” Dean grumbled. “But you better stay awake, okay?”

Sam’s face lit up like it had on that Fourth of July so many years ago. “Deal.”

It took several hours for Dean to be able to see clearly again and Sam even made him name two constellations to make sure that it wasn’t just a lucky guess, but it really did seem like Dean’s vision had cleared. Sam had continued to gain more lucidity as his body used the water– which Dean had been forcing on him every 15 minutes or so– to replenish some of his lost blood.

Even though Dean’s head was still pounding and Sam still couldn’t walk on his own, together they were able to get to the car and drive home safely. They arrived back to the bunker just as dawn was approaching.

Slinging his arm over Sam’s shoulders, Dean looked up at the disappearing stars. They may have had some rough times, and Dean would be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to a nice, warm bed, but he was just happy to have his kid-brother beside him, safe.

Dean helped settle Sam into his bed and went to leave, but Sam didn’t let go of his arm. Dean turned back with a question on his face and Sam smirked.

“You still have a concussion and there’s no way you’re getting out of hourly checks tonight. Besides, apparently the 3rd season of Stranger Things came out while we were gone.” Sam flashed his dimples as Dean settled next to him on the bed.

Dean closed his eyes, ready to sleep. “Fine, but don’t keep me up with your fangirling, Samantha.”

His laughter was answered with a pillow to the face, and Dean knew they were going to be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd really appreciate if you'd take time to give kudos and tell me your thoughts. No pressure, but comments make my day. (: 
> 
> I'll also be posting this year's Summergen as well as my TFW Bang piece on here eventually so, if you've liked this and my other fic, you may want to follow me so you know when those are posted. (That self-promo was subtle enough, right?) Thank you again for reading and I hope you're all staying smart and safe!
> 
> -Sakarrie <3


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